The Unknown Enemy ∘ Marvel [3]

Chapter 20: Compromised

"And how do you propose I deal with it? Renning expects me to break down crying again and my tears might actually help solve my problems like a magic elixir." The bed creaked under my weight as I sat down again, crossing my legs while she pretends to think up an honest answer.

"Maybe she's right. Heard bawling helps with the dopamine in the brain."

I wish Natasha would spare me her attempt at satire, and she gets that message at the end of my mostly good-humored glare, "Kidding, kidding. God, you're wound up. Thought reconciling with Steve would help."

"It did," I admitted, leaning back on the palms of my hands, "But unlike every rom-com ever, suddenly having a man in your life doesn't fix everything."

She smirked, mischief glowing in her eyes, "I'm proud of you and your beautiful way of looking at the situation, but may I bring up you comparing your relationship to Steve with a romantic comedy?"

"You're deplorable." I attempt to scowl, but a grin at her joke breaks through. Natasha didn't know when to give up, a trait I admired in most everything. This was the exception.

"Trying to deny it won't help-"

"Trying to force something won't help-"

"You're smiling-"

"And you're smirking, as you always are when you joke-"

"I do it when I'm right."

I bite my lip, cutting off a laugh as she cocks her head to the side. Nat threw the apple up, grabbing it out of the air with ease, "Thanks for the giggle."

"And serving the truth." She takes another bite, seeming as though she'll say something after before ringing is heard throughout the room. She glanced at her phone, shaking her head, "It's not me."

My eyebrows furrow, glancing over at my SHIELD-issued datapad. It vibrates on the nightstand, an alert blaring on the screen. My gaze goes back to Natasha, who just shrugs. Who would be Skyping me?

I grab the tablet, using the other hand to brush a piece of dark hair behind my ears. Andrew ready to accuse me again without having to deal with Tony? Layla from her work? Perhaps an actual assignment I could complete from bed?

I tap the screen, accepting the call. I'm slightly surprised when I see an older man sat at an oak desk. His face is withered, deep sunken eyes that crease with wrinkles. His first action is to smile as I stare at the screen, observing the area around him. A picture of what seems to be a younger Fury and him shaking hands is displayed for me or any guest of his to see with a small potted plant beside it. The wall behind him is engraved with the SHIELD eagle, proudly declaring his high rank in the organization.

"Agent Firman," He greets, voice quite youthful despite the apparent age on his face. He brandished an inviting smile, and I almost return it after the calling of my true position in the organization, "It's been awhile since we've spoken."

"Not since the ceremony for the Battle of New York, Mr. Pierce." I'm reminded of the medal he placed around my neck, professing of me and my team's courage and bravery for going against the Chitauri, "But it has been a bit."

He kept a genuine grin on, nodding at the memory, "It was my honor, truly. I would've liked to welcome you home a few weeks back, but I was indisposed. Now, I'm afraid it's too risky to go out in public, with the director's death and all."

"I understand, sir." I resist the urge to swallow, making sure my face is placid and for the most part unreadable, "If I'm not to forward, may I ask the reason for this meeting?"

He chuckled, but it gives hints of being manufactured, "I've been told of your direct attitude, and you don't fail to impress me Sienna."

If he knew that, he knew my loathing of small talk.